


chubby peeta ficlet masterpost

by sublime_jumbles



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Chubby Kink, Chubby Peeta, F/M, Weight Gain, a LOT of eating, chubby!kink, chubby!peeta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublime_jumbles/pseuds/sublime_jumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a compilation of the prompted chubby!peeta ficlets i've written over at <a>alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody.tumblr.com</a>. apologies in advance for the chapter titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. of course it's a live broadcast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: even though I haven't read/seen the Hunger Games, I am intrigued by the bit in your headcannons page about "peeta popping a button on live tv with caesar and giving the entire capitol a look at the wedge of pudge that spills out."

Dinner is served late in the Capitol, usually between nine and ten, and Caesar’s broadcast airs at eleven. Peeta remembers this in time, and manages not to gorge himself tonight - he has to fit into his suit, after all. Instead, he eats until he begins to feel full, and then he pushes his plate away, ignoring the trays and tureens piled high with rich courses and sides. His stomach gives a soft growl of satisfaction, rather than the gurgling groans of protest it’s been giving the past week. 

Effie gives him a praising smile when she sees that he’s left some food on his plate, and a quick hug of encouragement when she directs him into his dressing room later that night. “Octavia left your suit hanging behind the bathroom door,” she says. “You’ll look wonderful, wonderful, and Katniss - she’ll look so lovely beside you. Just wait until you see her.” She winks conspiratorially, and leaves him to dress.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror as he crosses toward the bathroom door, and stops short. He’s wearing nothing fancy, just a simple white shirt and comfortable trousers, but he’s struck by the way his stomach protrudes over the waistband of the pants. He knows he’s been eating well up here, and probably far too much and far too often, but - the roll that sits on his hips is much thicker than he’d expected. 

He swallows hard, grabbing at his stomach with both hands, and looks toward the bathroom door. He’s seen clothes from the Capitol before, of course, and they look like they can perform magic. They can put curves on Katniss Everdeen, for heaven’s sake - maybe they can give the illusion of slimming him down.

He hesitantly shucks the suit from its hanger - at least it’s a dark shade of green, rather than anything too eye-catching - and lays it on the bed. He avoids the mirror as he pulls off his shirt and pants, closes his eyes as he yanks the suit trousers up to his hips. They’re snug - his thighs and ass have softened, too - but he manages to get them buttoned beneath the curve of his belly. The crisp cream-colored dress shirt is a much bigger challenge: he has to suck in as far as he can to do up the three lowest buttons, and he can tell that one wrong move will force them open.

There’s no hope of getting the suit jacket buttoned, but when he finally dares to look in the mirror, he thinks maybe it’s for the best. The dark color of the blazer streamlines his sides and makes his love handles a bit less noticeable, though it can’t hide how much his shirt’s buttons are straining, even while he sucks in his stomach.

It’s as good as it gets, he figures, and he leaves his room glad that he managed to control himself at dinner. There’d be no hope for this shirt if he hadn’t.

He joins Katniss backstage; she looks stunning, per usual, in a cranberry gown that highlights her strong arms and sculpted shoulders. Her eyes drift over him, pausing around his midsection, and he tries to suck his stomach in further and crosses his arms over it for good measure.

"I know," he says defensively. "It’s tight."

"I was going to say you look nice," she tells him, and he feels himself blush. The bottom of his stomach is beginning to ache where the waistband of his pants cuts into it.

Caesar calls him on first, and he paints on the requisite grin and carelessly good-natured manner he’s cultivated for the Games. He sucks in his stomach as far as it will go.

He sees Caesar’s eyes pause over his midsection, just as Katniss’s did, but to his credit, Caesar says nothing. He asks the usual questions about Katniss, his family at home, his predictions for the Games, his favorite parts of the Capitol. Everything goes as scripted until Caesar cracks a joke about the amount of effort Capitol dwellers are willing to put into smelling like a particular breed of rare flower, and Peeta lets out a genuine laugh, and feels the buttons at the bottom of his shirt burst.

His first, bizarre urge is to look into the wings for Katniss, whose hand has sprung to her mouth. A titter spreads through the audience, soft at first and growing louder, and Peeta dares a glance downward to check the damage. A wedge of pale fat spills over the waistband of his pants, freed from the constraints of his shirt. He tries hastily to do up the buttons, but they’re not just undone - they’re gone. 

Caesar is watching him, a combination of amusement and horror spreading over his face, and he finally collects himself enough to say, “With all due respect to your assigned stylist, Peeta, I think you may want to invest in a better tailor for the rest of your stay.”


	2. backhanded encouragements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: what you said on your headcanons page with haymitch being mean but positive about peeta stress eating because pre--quarter-quell?

"Eaten your fill yet?" Haymitch asks as Peeta reaches for another hazelnut cream puff - his third or fourth, he can’t remember which. His mind gets hazy when he’s full, and he _is_ full. The cream puffs aren’t the only thing he’s had thirds of tonight.

He blushes - Haymitch’s tone isn’t harsh, exactly, and it’s never disgusted or affronted, like Effie’s is when she watches Peeta eat, but there’s something at the edge of his voice that makes Peeta feel like he’s the butt of a joke. Amusement, maybe, or just sarcasm. He pushes the cream puff into his mouth, shrugs.

"Got a lot of room in there," says Haymitch, throwing out an arm and clipping Peeta’s belly with the back of his hand. "Good thing, too. You need to pack in as much as you can before the Games, you hear? The more weight on you, the longer you’ll survive without food."

Peeta’s belly has been the subject of much discussion lately - he’s always carried a bit of extra weight there, puppy fat he never quite grew out of - but since he’s arrived in the Capitol, it’s softened and swollen considerably. Octavia tutted and tittered the first time she took his measurements, nervous giggles escaping her lips: “Growing boy, aren’t you? - Well, no matter, we’ll have something to fit you in no time!” Effie mutters about it under her breath, little remarks Peeta can’t quite catch when he takes more than one serving at meals, when he belches accidentally or bursts a button. Katniss says nothing, but he can read the morbid fascination on her face, read the way her gaze keeps getting stuck on his stomach. Haymitch is the only one with anything positive to say - even his most deprecating quips are usually spun into something encouraging, and he’s become the person Peeta feels most comfortable eating around.

He nods at Haymitch’s words, swallowing and chasing the pastry with a sip of wine. “I’m trying,” he says softly, and Haymitch pushes a platter of decadent chocolate cakes toward him.

"Figure you’ve got a couple more helpings in you," he says, and Peeta blushes harder. "That gut’s not getting any smaller."

Peeta’s stomach, although not the fullest it’s ever been, is uncomfortably full, groaning and gurgling when he shifts in his seat. He doesn’t know how much weight he’s gained since coming to the Capitol, but his stomach sits heavier on his hips the fuller he gets, and right now he’s so stuffed and sluggish that he’s not sure he can get himself up from the table. He leans back, breathing a bit harder, and cups a low burp behind his hand. 

"Oh, come on, boy," says Haymitch. "Just let it out."

Peeta flushes. His stomach gurgles again, and he presses a hand to its curve. He thinks about everything he’s stuffed himself with - rich potato soup, a couple of fluffy dinner rolls, pheasant in a buttery sauce, a plethora of creamy cheeses, and now dessert - and belches, deep and damp. 

"Atta boy," says Haymitch, putting a couple of cakes onto Peeta’s plate. Peeta takes one more and fits it into his mouth whole, chews and swallows as Haymitch looks on approvingly. He swears he can feel his stomach getting heavier, and he is almost absolutely sure that he has eaten himself into temporary immobility. 

"Might want to unbutton those trousers," Haymitch says. "Effie’ll skin you if you pop the button."


	3. underfed's definitely not the word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: how about katniss finally expressing her affection towards peeta's growing bulk? Like her bringing him stuff even though he's already eaten a ton or helping to relieve his swollen belly after a huge meal with cuddles?

Katniss sits through dessert with her heart pounding and her legs tightly crossed, watching Peeta fill what little room must be left in his stomach with lemon cream pie.

He’s halfway through his third slice when he belches and pushes his plate away, fork clattering against it.

"Had enough, kid?" asks Haymitch from across the table, cutting his eyes at him, amused, and Peeta nods, eyes closed. Katniss quells a shudder.

He leans back in his chair, his breathing heavy, and Katniss holds her breath as he stifles another belch in his hand. He doesn’t return his hand to his side afterward - he places it on his stomach instead, like he’s assessing the damage he’s done. Katniss could tell him, if he asked - two heaping servings of the lamb stew with wild rice she likes so much; three helpings of the potato dish that accompanied it; at least two soft bread rolls with butter; and now two and half slices of lemon cream pie. Something stirs below her stomach just thinking about it, and watching him squirm and sigh across the table isn’t helping a bit.

"I’m gonna go to bed, I think," says Peeta, his voice a little strained, and Katniss glances up from her empty plate to catch a glimpse of him as he struggles to stand up. His belly bows out against his button-down shirt, and as he eases out of the chair and onto his feet, he makes a little noise in the back of his throat, and Katniss feels her body heat up.

He braces himself, hand on the back of his chair, and catches his breath for a moment, and Katniss does _not_ let herself think about how he’s so full that just standing up makes him breathless.

Once he’s shuffled out of the room, belly looming ahead of him, Katniss’s mind begins to wander. It can’t be comfortable to go to bed after having eaten so much - although she’s seen Peeta eat much more, and that gets her thinking too.

She pulls the pie plate closer to her; there’s about a quarter of the pie left. “Can I take this to my room?” she asks Haymitch. “I’ll eat some later.”

"Knock yourself out, kid," says Haymitch, swigging from his glass. "Good to get some extra weight on you - Peeta’s taking that one to new heights."

"Uh, yeah," she says, blushing, picking up the pie plate and shoving in her chair. "I’m going to my room, I think. Good night."

"Night, kid," says Haymitch, but Katniss is already out the door.

She goes to Peeta’s room instead, rapping on the door and chewing her lower lip, pie plate in hand. “Come in,” he calls, and she opens the door cautiously.

Peeta is spread on his back on his bed, his bloated stomach rounding toward the ceiling, buttons straining. He glances at Katniss, and his cheeks flush pink.

"Hey," he says softly, struggling to sit up. He manages to prop himself on an elbow, but gets no further. "What’s up?" Then, his eyes straying to the pie plate: "Why do you … ?"

She sets it on his nightstand, sits on the edge of his bed, so close she can feel his body heat. “I thought you might need some help” - she falters, trying to find the right word - “ _settling_ this.” She puts a light hand on his belly, and he closes his eyes. “And I thought maybe … you’d want more of the pie later. You seemed disappointed that you couldn’t finish it at dinner.”

He groans quietly, and Katniss starts. “I don’t know about that,” he says, dubious. “I’m so full, Katniss, I don’t know if I can …”

"Shhhh," she says, moving her hand in experimental circles. Peeta moans, his stomach echoing with a deep gurgle. "Does this feel good?"

He nods, and the motion brings out the soft pudge beneath his chin. She catches her breath, rubs bigger circles. “Your stomach’s so hard,” she murmurs, almost to herself, but his eyes flicker open.

"I ate too much," he admits. "I always do here. I just - I can’t help myself."

"You don’t have to," she soothes. "No one’s judging you for it."

"The way Effie looks at me sometimes," he says, "I think she might. I think she thinks it’s disgusting."

"Well," says Katniss, bringing her other hand to his stomach, cradling his bulk in both hands, "I don’t."

Peeta blinks up at her, and she thinks affectionately that he looks cute like this, beached on his bed by the weight of his stomach. “What?” he says.

"I like this," she says, hefting his belly and squeezing it gently. He grunts a little, squirming, and his stomach jiggles a little beneath his shirt as it settles. She undoes the last button of his shirt, and watches his eyes widen. She unbuttons it slowly, drinking in the sight of his pale belly like a gift she’s unwrapping, and places her hands on his warm skin.

"You like it," Peeta repeats, a flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. "You like … _this_?”

He lifts a lazy arm and grabs a handful of his belly, jostling it so that it ripples. Katniss nods, watching, then leans down to press a kiss just below his belly button. She stretches out beside him, and he fits an arm around her as she continues to rub his stomach. He belches softly when she applies a little pressure, arching himself up to meet her hand.

"Yeah, I’d say I like it," she says, and he smiles a little. "You look … healthy. Well-off. Not underfed like everyone in District 12."

His smile widens. “You and I both know,” he says, “that I’ve never looked underfed. Not even in District 12.”

"Maybe," she concedes, "but now you look _well_ -fed, and there’s a difference. I love seeing you all plump and flushed and full. I love seeing you indulge, because that’s something you don’t get in District 12.” She squeezes a handful of pudge from his lower belly, and Peeta grunts again, in the back of his throat. 

"How did you make it back to your room?" she asks, widening her circles. "You look too stuffed to move."

"Wasn’t easy," he says; he looks like he’s dozing. “‘M too full to go anywhere fast."

It tugs at something inside her, hearing him say it. “Too full for the pie, still?”

He cracks an eyelid, studies her. “Guess not,” he says, pulling himself further upright with a bit of effort, his stomach rolling over the waistband of his pants. He spreads his legs a little to accommodate it, and all the air goes out of Katniss’s body. “I’ll just sleep it all off afterward.”

Exhilarated, she picks up the pie plate and fork from the nightstand and sets it in his lap as he straightens up. “There’s not too much left,” she entices. “Not more than you’ve already eaten.”

He digs his fork into the pale yellow cream and shovels a heavy forkful into his mouth, moaning a little when it hits his stomach. She watches, eyes wide, as he pushes down mouthful after mouthful until the plate is scraped clean, and then he eases back onto the pillows and lets out a long burp.

”Oof,” he says, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to the side of his belly. “Too much, Katniss, that was … too much.”

"Feel okay?" she asks, returning her own hands to his stomach. 

He nods. “Yeah, just … way. _Way_ too full to move now.” He moans, a satisfied, overstuffed noise that makes Katniss aware of all of her nerve endings. “Nap with me?” he asks, and Katniss has never been happier to oblige.


	4. c'mon, haymitch, now you're just mocking him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: maybe something with peeta gaining so much he realizes it’ll interfere with his ability to participate in the games?

To add insult to injury, the suits they’re given to wear into the arena are skin-tight.

It took Peeta a good long time to struggle into his before entering the arena; even with the right measurements, it took a lot of wriggling and cursing to get it up over his hips and thighs, and when he chanced a look in the mirror, he winced at all the curves and bulges it put on display. 

But that’s not the worst thing he’s discovered about going into the arena with twenty - give or take, he thinks; all he really knows is that however much it is, it went on _fast_ \- extra pounds on his already stocky frame. Well - of course it’s not the _worst_ thing, he amends. Dying a brutal, painful death would be much worse than the world watching him figure out that no, he actually cannot wedge his body into any of the tree perches Katniss finds for them to hide in.

But not by much.

He can’t keep up with her either - Katniss is quick, stealthy, but Peeta’s always been slow, and with the added weight, he’s slow and _breathless_. He tries to keep pace as he follows her through the woods, but he’s doubled over wheezing within minutes, hands on his knees, lungs searing, the bulge of his belly drooping toward his thighs. 

"Peeta!" she hisses, meters ahead of him. and he nods, panting, gesturing for her to keep going.

"I can’t," he says, chest heaving, and she doubles back to him.

"What?"

"I can’t run with this, Katniss,” he huffs. “I can’t run, I can’t climb, I can barely _lift_ myself - the only thing I can probably do is swim, and that’s only because all this” - he straightens a little, hefts the swell of his stomach - “is gonna float.”

"Well," she says, "you won’t starve," and he glares at her.

"You’ll be fine," she soothes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She glances around them, then sneaks a grab of his stomach, making him jump.

"Don’t rub it in," he says, but Katniss isn’t looking at him anymore. Her eyes have lit on something behind him, and he turns, expecting another tribute, or some horrific mutant animal.

Instead, it’s a basket attached to a telltale white parachute. Katniss steals over to snatch it up, and looks inside with a cry of delight.

"What is it?" he asks, still panting. "An inhaler?"

She looks up at him, expressionless. “It’s a lemon cream pie,” she says after a moment, and grins wickedly.


	5. between those thighs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt DOUBLE FEATURE: maybe someone commenting on Peeta's weight gain, him being embarrassed, and then Katniss comforting him /&/ if you’re still taking prompts, can we have some Katniss and Peeta chubby thigh worship?

The training uniforms this year, as always, are not forgiving: clingy and skin-tight, emphasizing every bulge and imperfection. It wouldn’t be so bad, Peeta thinks, if he weren’t the only tribute in possession of bulges and imperfections.

The rest of them are svelte, slender or muscular, cutting clean silhouettes in their dark uniforms. Peeta catches his reflection in the mirrored wall outside the training room and bites back a grimace: the roll of his stomach sits on his hips, which are embarrassingly round in their own right, and his _thighs_ \- they’re almost as wide as his hips themselves, thick and crowding against each other, jiggling when he shifts position.

He feels his face heat up as he watches the other tributes’ eyes rake over him while they wait to be called, watches their mouths curl in cruel amusement. He tries to suck in a little, stand up straighter, but he’s got more belly than he can hide and standing up straighter won’t make his hips or thighs shrink any. 

"Gotten kinda chunky there, haven’t you, Twelve?" says one of the Career boys - he thinks he’s District Two - and a hot blush pours over the rest of him. He swallows hard, scrunches his shoulders together. 

"If you don’t get killed off first," the boy continues, "lugging all that dead weight around, you might actually have a chance at not starving to death, won’t you?"

Peeta turns away, biting down on his lower lip.

"And who knows?" he goes on. "Maybe you won the audience over popping your buttons with Caesar the other night. Maybe someone will take pity on you, feed you up in the arena when it turns out you’re too fat to catch your own food."

Katniss exits the training room in time to catch the last of his diatribe, and Peeta watches her eyes narrow and her mouth tighten.

"Say that again," she dares the Career boy, who smirks. 

"You must be pleased," he says to Katniss. "Less chance of your boyfriend starving to death looking like that, isn’t there? Tell me - how is it, sleeping with all that … _flab_? Can you even find anything between those thighs?”

Katniss gives the boy a long, icy look, and finally says, “I saw your scores broadcast the other night. You’ll be easy to kill.”

She turns and stalks away, taking Peeta by the arm, leaving the Career boy looking unnerved.

"Don’t listen to them," she says in an undertone, and Peeta nods numbly. "You’ve got as much of a shot as any of them."

"Not like this," he mumbles, and she stops and looks at him.

"Come back to my room with me," she says. "We’re going to talk about this."

Peeta eyes her for a moment - Katniss is not usually the conversational sort - but her gaze is unwavering, so he follows her. 

"Sit down," she says when they’re in her quarters, and he obediently sinks onto her bed.

She sits next to him, pulls her legs beneath her and turns to face him. “You’ve gained a lot of weight up here,” she begins, and he almost has to laugh at her bluntness.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I’ve noticed that."

She silences him with a look. “I love it,” she continues, and his jaw goes slack.

"You love it," he repeats, incredulous.

She blushes a little, turning her eyes down, and she leans a little closer to him. “You look so … so _healthy_. You look like you belong here, like you belong anywhere but District Twelve.”

"Do I look like I belong in this uniform?" he asks, pinching the fabric and pulling it away from his stomach. "I look like maybe I belonged in it three sizes ago."

"Look at you, though," she says, splaying a hand on his belly. "Do you have any idea how nice this is when you stay here overnight?"

He doesn’t.

"This," she says, closing her fingers around a handful of pudge, "is wonderful to wake up to, when I have nightmares. It’s so easy to curl into you. You’re warm and soft and - and _comforting_. You make me feel safe when I’m in your arms.”

"I do?"

"You do," she says, stroking her thumb over the curve of his belly. He beckons her closer, and slides an arm around her.

"You know what else I like?" she asks, tipping her head toward his.

He shrugs. “My ass? Double chin? I know those’ve both gotten bigger.”

"I like those too," she says, "but I was going to say, your thighs."

"My _thighs_?” he asks, poking one of them. His finger sinks into the soft flesh, and he grimaces. “What about them?”

"And your hips," she says, blushing a little. "They’re just … solid. Like sometimes when you sleep, you throw one of your legs over me, and you keep me grounded there, and it just feels nice. And they make you look solid. Substantial." Her blush deepens. "Like you could pin me down on the mattress and … keep me there a while."

He blushes, too, and Katniss runs a hand up his thigh. “And I like the way they move,” she says. “They rub together a little; they fill out your pants. They jiggle. It’s cute.”

"It’s _cute_?”

"Yes," she says, nodding. "I just …" She trails off, squeezing a handful of his inner thigh, and he squirms a little. 

"You just what?" he asks, and she flushes. 

"I want to bite them," she says, very quietly, and he snorts.

"Don’t laugh at me," she objects, turning to half-glare at him. 

"Sorry," he says. "But - you want to _bite_ them?”

"Take this off," she says, pinching the fabric of his uniform. "I’ll show you."

"Show you mine, show me yours," he teases, but she’s already unzipping the back of her suit. She squirms out of it and stands in her bra and underwear, watching him peel his off, and he blushes under her gaze. His belly pushes over the waistband of his boxers, his thighs bulging out of them too, and he’s never worn this little clothing, looking like this, in front of someone who wants him.

She pushes him back on the bed and lays between his legs, propped on her elbows. “Ready?” she asks, trailing her fingers over the inside of his thigh, and he shivers.

"Yeah," he says, and he’s not prepared for how her mouth will feel on his skin. She rolls her tongue over the inside of his thighs, then bites down, sucking gently at his skin, and he whimpers.

"Good?" she asks softly.

"Good," he manages, and she resumes, one hand crawling up to his belly and grabbing at it. He grunts a little, and her grasp lightens.

She works her way up his thighs, leaving small red mouth-shaped marks on the pale skin, and he shudders underneath her. She nips and licks at his belly, and he keeps a hand knotted in her hair.

"Convinced yet?" she asks, leaning up to kiss his cheek. 

"Not quite," he manages, a little breathlessly. "I think you might have to do that all one more time."

She grins wickedly. “I can do this _all_ night.”


End file.
